


The Critic

by reddiegays



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bisexual Richie Tozier, Celebrity/Critic AU, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie has one hell of a day, First Kiss, First Meetings, Flirting, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Richie Tozier Flirts, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie turns into a massive slut when he meets Eddie, Sharing a Bed, don't mind me just channelling my thirst for james ransone through richie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 19:49:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21086849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddiegays/pseuds/reddiegays
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is a critic with a popular column on an online blog. He hates Richie Tozier, the comedian. Richie invites him to his hotel room for an exclusive interview and sparks fly...





	The Critic

**Author's Note:**

> I made a post about this on tumblr and I just had to write this au. just want to say myra's bitchass opinions are her own

There was nothing Richie Tozier loved more than performing his latest comedy set to a sell out crowd. He relished the audience reactions and it boosted his confidence exponentially. Currently, he was in New York and the crowd failed to disappoint. He’d just finished discussing the somewhat humorous yet frustrating ups and downs of bisexual culture, particularly how relationships never seemed to last because partners always felt they were competing with both genders. Richie had explained how his ex-girlfriend broke up with him because she couldn’t accept his attraction to men so he slept with her brother in response; the audience seemed to love that one, although he wasn’t sure if they believed him or not.

He gave an exaggerated bow to the enthusiastic crowd, waving goodbye before hurrying off the stage. Richie gratefully accepted the glass of champagne his manager, Nick, handed him. 

“Well, Nick, how was the show? I’m sure you’re dying to tell me.”

They were beginning to get crowded backstage as members of the crew hurried around. Nick himself was sweating profusely, dabbing at his brow with a tatty handkerchief.

“Oh, yeah, great, Rich, the crowd loved ya’,” Nick was saying distractedly, ushering them towards the dressing room out of the way, “I just wish you wouldn’t talk about sucking dick so much, man.”

“It’s okay when I talk about pussy, though,” Richie said with a smirk that made Nick wince, still wiping at his forehead. They finally reached the dressing room and closed the door behind them.

“Well, yeah that’s natural, isn’t it?”

Richie rolled his eyes, removed his jacket; honestly, he didn’t know why he kept the man around. He finished his remaining champagne, examining himself in the mirror; he looked tired and needed a good shave but still decent.

“Yeah, well, next time, Nick, I’ll include a totally Christian joke just for you.”

“Cut the crap, Rich. Why don’t you ask what you want to ask?”

Sighing, Richie turned away from the mirror and tried not to look as excited as he felt.

“Fine, has he posted yet?”

“He updated ten minutes ago.”

“Right. That’s my night sorted,” Richie gathered up his car keys, giving himself one last once over in the mirror before winking at his manager, “don’t wait up.”

“Jeeze, Rich. All this guy does is shit on you, ripping apart your show mercilessly. I don’t know why you give him the time of day.” Richie was gone before he’d even finished his sentence.

* * *

It took longer than he’d wanted to get back to his hotel room; the venue had been rather packed and many people still hovered around in an effort to corner him for autographs. Normally, he wouldn’t mind, even take some photos, but he had plans. Richie managed to escape without being seen, trying not look as though he was in a rush as he ran up to reception to collect the key to his room - a modest room despite Nick’s insistence he splash out on the penthouse suite. Quickly hanging the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, Richie set about preparing his night. Glass of whiskey? Check. Fancy hotel bathrobe? Check. Lights dimmed and laptop poised on the pillows? Check. Richie settled onto his stomach, opening the latest online article of his favourite critic: Eds Talks.

_Readers,_

_ As you know, I like to go out, take in the city, sample it’s food and entertainment and shit like that. So, why my fucking editor keeps sending me to bullshit comedy events is beyond me. You assholes eat it up, too. For some reason you love my suffering. Particularly Richie Tozier. Now, this is my fourth time - the shit I do for money - watching the guy and I’m not one to be dramatic but I wish I was dead._

_I wanted to keep and open mind and I was prepared to enjoy it, you know, but my wife refused to go and told me she didn’t want me going but it’s my job, it’s my fucking job. Anyway, ten minutes in I’d already come to the conclusion the man is a sex maniac who wouldn’t know comedy if it but him on the ass. An ass, by the way, that definitely does NOT look good in jeans despite what Out magazine says._

Now, Richie was somewhat offended. He was very proud of the interview he gave for Out magazine, his first since coming out. At this point, Richie had to agree with Nick; why did he keep reading the comments? They were just slandering him, nothing constructive just insult after put down after personal attack. Deep down, however, Richie knew he found it exciting. This guy wasn’t willing to be walked over, to fall at his feet and fawn over him. This Eds had been reviewing him for four months now and had not one nice thing to say about him. In the past, he’d stated how Richie’s smile ‘made him feel uncomfortable’, his eyes ‘distracting’ (referencing the ‘excruciating’ time his editor made him watch his Netflix special), and dress code appalling. Richie knew he should be insulted or offended but he lived for Eds’ criticism, often finding it charming. God, what a masochist.

The way he wrote his article Richie could tell the man was passionate, fiery, opinionated and had a stick up his ass. Also, his wife was a bitch. He’d been reading the less than complementary reviews in the column every week, every show and was more and more drawn to the man each time. If Richie was being honest with himself, he wanted to meet his critic face to face. Thankfully, he had the perfect outlet to get the stranger’s attention.

* * *

Richie took his opportunity four nights later, allowing people the chance to take in the latest entry in the popular article. He waited until near the end of his set, right after requesting for heckles from the crowd - they did they best but were tame in comparison to the critic he’d grown to admire.

“Whilst we’re on the subject, some of you may know I’ve got myself a fan,” he said sarcastically, looking around the room. Whether the mysterious Eds was there or not, word was sure to get back to him, “there’s this popular column in one these online blog things and, I have to say, the author is a bit obsessed with me.” Richie smirked at the knowledge that this was winding up his critic beyond measure. He leaned on the microphone stand, addressing the man directly, “I’ll make this easy on you, since you’re so crazy about me, I’ll give you an exclusive interview from my hotel room. I just know it’ll make your day.”

The crowd erupted into roars of laughter and applause and he hopped off stage, already feeling a buzz a the thought of reading Eds’ reply. It took a little longer for critic to update this time, a little under an hour not that Richie had been waiting. He had better things to do than lying on the bed frantically refreshing his phone checking for the update. The fact that he had been doing just that was beside the point.

_Readers,_

_ Alright, which one of you fuckers told the prick? If I’d known there was the slightest chance that bastard reads my shit, I’d have quit my job four months ago. Now, thanks to my fucking editor, I have to agree to meet him for a fucking interview!_

_Richie Tozier, if you’re reading this, I hope you’re happy. I don’t usually do interviews but when my editor heard, he thought it was the funniest fucking thing in the world. I’ll be over tomorrow night after your stupid show. I’m giving up an evening with my wife for you, asshole._

Richie finished reading and found he was smiling to himself, his heartbeat thudding excitedly in anticipation. He’d been called an asshole many times in his life but never had it felt like this before. He sent a quick text to Nick to inform Eds’ editor of the time and place before finally getting some well-deserved sleep, the upcoming evening already on his mind.

* * *

“Do you have to go?” Myra was saying as she watched her husband pack several clothes into an overnight bag along with several bottles of pills and inhalers, “you don’t have to do this, you don’t even like him.”

“I know, I know!” Eddie snapped, zipping up his bag forcefully, “I wish I wasn’t going either but the readers love this shit and to be honest, I want to give this guy a piece of mind in person.”

“Yes, well, don’t go getting too friendly. You know what he is,” she said with an unsettled shiver. This was enough to make Eddie stop dead and stare at her incredulously.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know,” Myra shrugged, waving her hand to the side, “he’s one of _them_. He ‘enjoys the company of men’. It’s not right, Eddie, Bear, you know that.” Eddie said nothing at that - Richie Tozier’s sexuality had never been a concern to him, he was paid to judge his comedy, nothing else. Myra sensed his uncomfortable silence and added with a snigger, “so you’re telling me you don’t mind being all alone in a hotel room with a- a...queer.” She mouthed the last word, shuddering in an exaggerated manner.

Eddie swallowed, suddenly feeling very red in the face. “I have to go.”

He quickly bundled his overnight bag into the car and gave Myra a goodbye peck, promising to call her as soon as he got to the hotel. As soon as he was on the road, Eddie heaved a deep sigh; he had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

* * *

A little over an hour later, after he’d checked himself in and freshened up, Eddie found himself standing outside the hotel room, trying to control his nerves - what he was nervous about, he wasn’t quite sure. Yes, he had spent the last four months publicly insulting the man he was about to interview but he was fairly sure if Richie wanted to fight him, he’d have sold tickets. He didn’t want to admit there was a reason Tozier’s smile made him feel uncomfortable or why he found his eyes distracting, especially not to the man himself.

He took a deep breath, and a quick glance down the corridor to make sure no one was looking, and tapped on the door. Richie answered quickly and rather eagerly; he gave Eddie a quick once over, taking in his business-like suit sans tie and the first couple of buttons undone, laptop bag slung over one shoulder and I-really-don’t-want-to-be-here scowl, and sighed.

“Shit.”

Eddie looked around, rather panicked, “what?”

“Nothing. It’s just my luck that you turn out to be hot as fuck,” Richie said in a matter of fact tone, stepping aside to let Eddie in.

The critic blamed being taken aback for the blush on his face. He pushed his way into the room, unzipping his laptop, “shut the fuck up, Richie. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Sure,” Richie shrugged, swinging the door shut. He gestured at the chairs beside the coffee table, raising an eyebrow, “do I call you Eds or...”

“No, I hate it when people call me that.”

“It’s the name of your column, dude.”

Eddie scowled, forcefully unzipping his laptop bag, “yeah, well, it’s Eddie.”

Richie was already enjoying himself and he knew on some level Eddie was too. He moved over to the liquor cabinet, gesturing, “can I get you anything? Wine, bourbon, naked?”

Eddie nearly dropped his laptop onto the beautiful glass coffee table. He’d never had to deal with another man flirting with him so outrageously before. He’d be lying if he said he hated it. Still, best not to let on. The last thing Richie Tozier needs is an ego boost.

“Just water, thanks.”

Richie shrugged, grabbing a glass and disappearing into the bathroom - Eddie took the opportunity to take a few puffs on his inhaler, it suddenly felt very hot in the room. Richie returned with a glass of water, smiling innocently.

“So...where do you want me?”

"Will you take this fucking seriously?” Eddie snapped distractedly, searching for the email his editor had sent him with the questions he wanted asked included.

"Hey, man, I just want to make sure you get what you want...” Eddie changed his mind; Richie’s smile was just straight up fucking annoying, “the floor?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie muttered, swigging at the water to try to cool himself down.

“The bed, then.”

"Just sit in the fucking chair!” Eddie was beginning to question his sanity and the night had only just started. Richie sat opposite him, stretching out lazily - it was a bad time for Eddie to notice how tight his jeans were.

“You’re the boss. I’m not fussy, mind. I did my last interview in the shower.”

“Let’s just get this over with, shall we?” Eddie squeaked, hoping he didn’t look as flustered as he looked.

* * *

Richie and Eddie had been discussing his career in between the former’s ridiculous flirting, the latter’s flustered annoyance and much bickering for almost an hour and a half. During the time, Eddie had switched to drinking wine, starting to loosen up and relax in Richie’s presence. The comedian had at some point removed his awful Hawaiian shirt and now wore just a plain white t-shirt and those tight jeans - the sight alone was enough to make Eddie remove his suit jacket. Richie had also ordered them a pizza despite it getting on for eleven o’clock. Eddie had to admit, he was starting to enjoy himself.

“Fuck off, you did not sleep with your ex-girlfriend’s brother.”

“Hey, fuck you, man,” Richie said, pointing at Eddie with his glass of whiskey, “I take credit for that guy. He was straight until he met me!”

“Lol so was I,” Eddie said without thinking - whatever, he’d blame it on the wine and the overindulgence of pizza. Myra didn’t like him drinking or eating junk food. It wasn’t often he got to really chill out. Across from him, Richie snorted, staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Dude...”

“Fuck you. I’m married!”

Richie gave a weak half-smile, finishing the rest of his whiskey before gesturing at the laptop, “come on, then, asshole, or we’ll be here all night.”

Eddie blinked hard, trying to focus on the words swimming in front of his screen, the relationship segment. He’d deliberately left that until last, he didn’t want to know. It was private. He cleared his throat, preparing to type his answers.

“Uh, sorry, these ones are a bit personal. Are, are you seeing someone? Currently?”

Richie smiled, gazing softly at Eddie as he answered, “no, but I am falling for a married guy so that pretty much sums up my dating life.”

In his slightly drunk state, Eddie felt tears fill his eyes, “that’s so sad.”

“Fucking tell me about it,” Richie sighed, watching Eddie and trying to figure out if he was just drunk or really that stupid.

“When did you first realise you liked guys?”

“I suppose you want a more intellectual answer than ‘the first time I had a dick in my mouth?’” Richie was smirking again and Eddie found himself swallowing the lump in his throat, eyes drifting down to Richie’s tight jeans yet again, “I was young, a teenager. I don’t know, it’s something that I’ve always known, really...” he swilled the remaining contents of his drink in the glass before slyly adding, “you?”

“Oh, I was watching your Netflix spec-” Eddie started saying automatically before pausing, frowning at the man opposite. He pulled the cushion from behind him and threw it at the insufferable comedian, “hey, fuck off, man.”

“You fuck off.”

* * *

Eddie awoke with a jolt, stretching his stiff neck and rubbing his eyes as he adjusted to his surroundings. He was slumped in a chair, his laptop had been placed on the coffee table in front of him; he sat upright and felt the warm bathrobe that had been thrown over him slip down slightly. There was a faint sound of running water coming from the bathroom. He checked his watch and nearly leapt out of his skin. One o’clock in the morning! Eddie jumped to his feet and began hurriedly gathering his things. He was halfway through zipping his laptop bag when the bathroom door opened; Richie peered around, his glasses steamed up and messy hair damp but the smile was still there.

“Ah, good, you’re awake. Mind tossing me that robe, there isn’t a spare.”

After a couple of minutes silently staring, Eddie snapped out of his trance and hurried over with the bathrobe. A few moments later, Richie emerged wearing nothing but the bathrobe which made Eddie blush considerably; he fumbled for his laptop bag, smiling nervously.

“Look, um, it’s late. I’d better get back to my room. Uh, thanks for the...” he trailed off, patting his laptop bag. Richie nodded, remaining uncharacteristically quiet - a first time for everything. Eddie paused at the door, somewhat confused, “there’s just one thing I don’t get. I was a dick to you, I was mean, I was horrible. I didn’t have one nice thing to say about you, your routine, fuck, even your eyes and shit. Why don’t you hate me?”

“How can I hate someone that looks like you?” Richie replied with a cheeky wink. Eddie sighed and folded his arms; he was not having any of it.

“Dude.”

Richie ran a hand through his messy hair, clearly not prepared to answer such a question honestly, “I don’t know, Eds. I guess I just like you. You don’t mess me about, you tell me exactly what you think. You’re cute, you’re funny, you’re a little hot-head,” he smiled as Eddie chuckled, looking down at the floor in embarrassment, “plus, you’re a really great guy. How am I supposed to resist that?”

“Oh.” Eddie finally said after a long pause. He swallowed heavily, letting his laptop bag drop from his shoulder. He shook his head, “and, what, you were just going to let me leave without a nightcap, asshole?”

Richie lit up like it was Christmas morning, already pouring drinks at the liquor cabinet, “hey, fuck you, man. You’re not paying the minibar tab.”

“You’re the celebrity, fuckwit,” he said, accepting the glass from the comedian. They clinked glasses, “I’ll pay you back when the money comes in for this shitty interview.”

As soon as Eddie winked at him, Richie knew he was fucked.

* * *

The next tine Eddie woke up it was morning and he wasn’t alone. He was lying fully dressed on top of the sheets with Richie Tozier. In fact, he was _spooning_ Richie Tozier. And it felt right, good even. He sighed, running a hand over his face, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“I need to have a serious talk with my wife, don’t I?”

“Mmm, unless that’s your phone in your pocket,” Richie mumbled sleepily, a smirk clearly on his face; he’d swapped his bathrobe for a pair of worn pyjamas sometime in the morning.

“That’s my inhaler, dipshit.”

“Ah, well, you can’t have everything.”

Eddie swatted Richie’s head with his hand, mumbling a curse under his breath. The comedian responded by less than gracefully rolling over to face Eddie before seizing the back of his head and dragging him in for a long overdue kiss. Eddie kissed him back just as enthusiastically, running his fingers through Richie’s messy hair. Eddie felt Richie’s hands stroke his back and he moaned, pulling away.

“Seriously?” He panted, trying to calm down his racing heartbeat, “_that_ was our first kiss?”

“Fuck yeah,” was all Richie could gasp, leaning in to kiss Eddie again. The other man rolled his eyes, slapping a hand over Richie’s mouth.

“I’m sure you’re going to get a good fucking laugh out of this. ‘Our first kiss happened after I made a shitty dick joke,’” Richie stared at Eddie for a moment before licking the hand Eddie still pressed against his mouth; as expected, the other man squealed and removed his hand, wiping it on the pillow, “motherfucker.”

Richie snorted, nuzzling Eddie’s neck, “dude, if you didn’t like that, the other things I’ve got in mind-“

Eddie kissed him again, if just to shut him up, “I really need to talk to my wife first.”

Richie sighed but understood, climbing out of bed. He rummaged in a suitcase for several minutes, tossing an assortment of shirts, pants and underwear over his shoulder until he found what he was looking for: a small piece of rectangle shaped paper.

“When you’ve squared everything with your wife,” he was saying, leaning against the dresser to write across the paper, “and you’re ever in the neighbourhood, call me. I’d love to take you out.”

He handed the paper to Eddie, who was now on his feet and somewhat presentable; he’d ruffled his hair back into place and put on his jacket. Eddie took the slip of paper which upon closer inspection turned out to be Richie’s phone number scrawled across a ticket to his next show plus backstage access; he couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re an asshole.”

“So I’ll see you there?”

Eddie leaned close and pressed a soft kiss to Richie’s cheek, smiling softly, “I’d rather fuck a cactus.”

“Hey, man, if that’s what you’re into I won’t judge,” Richie said, smirking as Eddie scowled at him. He waited until Eddie was halfway out of the door before adding, “see you at the show.”

* * *

This was the most nervous Richie had ever been whilst performing one of his shows; he’d tried to scan the crowd; he could barely concentrate, his mind backstage wondering if Eddie was back there waiting for him, now a single man. After what felt like ages, he finally said goodbye to his crowd and practically ran offstage; he gratefully took the water bottle from Nick, more or less gulping the whole lot at once.

“Something on your mind, Rich?” Nick was saying, watching Richie looking around eagerly. The comedian deflated, shrugging.

“I was expecting someone. Sort of.” 

“You know what’s weird?” Nick started, a confused look on his face, “some asshole got himself arrested trying to get in with a fake ticket.”

“No shit,” Richie replied sarcastically, still looking around for the man he was waiting for. He felt certain he would show up. Nick carried on, oblivious to Richie’s searching.

"Yeah, he was saying some shit about you writing your phone number on this ticket after you spent the night together.”

Richie almost choked on the rest of his water, “what?”

"I know right,” Nick chuckled, wiping at his forehead with a handkerchief, “he looked so out of place. I mean, the dude was wearing elbow patches, for fuck’s sake. Like you’d fuck someone that dressed like your grandpa.”

"I didn’t fuck him, Nick, but I think I love him,” he was about to follow that up with a request to be driven to the police station to clear the whole mess up and beg for Eddie’s forgiveness when Nick smiled, chuckling to himself.

“Just your sort, isn’t it, Rich? Well, that’s what I thought. He’s waiting for you in your dressing room,” Richie was clearly torn between wanting to punch Nick in the face and kiss him. He settled for hugging him, “yeah, yeah, okay, Rich. Fucking phone number on a ticket. Tone it down next time, yeah, Rich?”

“I don’t think there’s going to be a next time, Nick,” he said excitedly, patting his manager’s shoulder. 

Richie took off running down the corridor, skidding around the corner. He didn’t stop until he reached his dressing room; he took a deep breath and let himself in. Eddie was pacing in front of the mirror, looking absolutely fucking furious. He looked up at Richie’s entrance and scowled.

“Oh, that was real fucking funny, motherfucker. If it wasn’t for that sweaty guy-” he was silenced by Richie’s lips on his. He wanted to stay mad at him but he’d missed him too much; Myra hadn’t made things easy for him and he just wanted to hold Richie close. Still, when they finally separated, he couldn’t resist giving him a bit of a hard time, “if you think you’re getting a good review after this shit.”

"Night isn’t over yet,” Richie grinned, pressing kisses up Eddie’s neck until he was a quivering mess.

“Asshole.”

* * *

_Readers,_

_ It’s been a while. I suppose you want a summary of the last eight months, right? Okay, got a divorce, came out, got a boyfriend, moved in with boyfriend, got engaged, got a dog, got married, went on honeymoon. And, yeah, it’s the bastard I’ve been complaining about for most of my career._

_You’re probably thinking that since I’ve fallen in love with and recently married someone I once claimed to hate, I can no longer continue my criticism of my husband. Well, in fact, you’re all wrong. He’s still fucking awful it just so happens I love him like that. Go fuck myself._


End file.
